


wolven storm

by incarnandine



Category: D.Gray-man
Genre: Drabble, M/M, welcome to ao3 @me i guess, yuuvi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-19
Updated: 2017-10-19
Packaged: 2019-01-19 13:47:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 606
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12411477
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/incarnandine/pseuds/incarnandine
Summary: I thought you hated winter,Lavi mutters, half into his scarf half into Kanda’s hair.I do,comes a hoarse reply; Kanda’s voice is raspy, frost-bitten, as if the wind got into his throat his lungs, replacing the deep, deceivingly soft tones of his voice.For a moment, none of them says a word.





	wolven storm

**Author's Note:**

> I have originally posted it over on [tumblr ](http://incarnandine.tumblr.com) last year, but as I finally decided to get an ao3 account - here it is! (I will probably be doing a massive ficdump in the next few weeks as it is.)
> 
> Inspired by an insert song in the Witcher 3, which it also (incidentally) takes the name from.
> 
> Hope you enjoy!

It’s already night when Lavi wakes up.

The first thing he notices, his gaze still bleary and hazy, is that the fire has gone out; the hut is small, after all - he’s still thankful they managed to find anything with a roof intact - and the fireplace old and dusty; no wonder it wouldn’t keep lit the whole night.

It’s quiet in the hut, almost too quiet, a deadly emptiness that rings in his ears and leaves him both dazed and uneasy, and it takes a longer moment for Lavi to realize that he’s completely alone.

Long, stretched howls can be heard outside and he’s not sure if it’s the wind, or if there are wolves in the forest.

He’s always been completely alone, and that’s fine, Lavi thinks; that is how it has to be.

The Exorcist jacket feels almost too thin when he steps out into the storm; _they keep it fireproof, but what about the cold?_ , Lavi would laugh, were there others around to hear him. But there are not, he remembers with a grim smile, winding the scarf closer around his throat.

The forest grows thicker as he walks, thicker and darker and almost ominous, with trees looming high above him and the mountains in the distance obscuring any moonlight that could be visible - were the sky clear, of course. The howling intensifies and now, Lavi is sure, it’s just the wind, pushing between the trees, rustling every dead leaf that was still left on frost-rimmed branches, every gust of wind and snow wrapping around him, reminding him of the frozen wasteland he’s about to drown in.

A few steps more, and there he is.

Kanda, in all his angry, melancholic glory, stands above a frozen forest lake, seemingly lost in thought, and it’s almost too dark to make out a shape of a black coat alongside a mane of black hair in a black, black forest.

The rustling of dried, frozen leaves under his boots seems even louder than the wind howling around them, and truly, he’s surprised Kanda didn’t hear, didn’t notice. Purposefully ignoring him, then; were he around other people - a wide, wide public to flash his bright smiles and silly jokes at - he would make a playful jab at it, a pouty face, big sad green eyes to show just how  _hurt_  he is, being so misjudged by his  _dear Yuu_.

They are all alone, though, so a few steps closer - and slowly, like he would with a frightened bird about to take flight - he wraps his arms around Kanda’s seemingly frozen, unmoving form, reaching out to feel cold, numb fingertips just under his own.

“I thought you hated winter,” Lavi mutters, half into his scarf half into Kanda’s hair. Even the black strands under his lips feel frosty; how /long/ has he been standing there?

“I do,” comes a hoarse reply; Kanda’s voice is raspy, frost-bitten, as if the wind got into his throat, his lungs, replacing the deep, deceivingly soft tones of his voice.

For a moment, none of them says a word.

Then, Lavi turns him around, gently, as if he were but a page in an old manuscript -  _he is_ , oh  _gods_ , how he  _is_ , and there are tears pricking at the corners of Lavi’s eyes everytime he gets reminded of it - and bends down slightly to place a kiss on thin, pale lips, chapped from the wind and cold.

“You should come back and get some sleep. We still have a mission in the morning,” he murmurs, letting himself linger on the feeling for just the barest of moments.

The fire has gone out.


End file.
